


Je t'amie

by Yodigittyyoyo



Category: Assassin's Creed, Southern Vampire Mysteries - Charlaine Harris
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-23
Updated: 2012-06-23
Packaged: 2017-11-08 09:09:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yodigittyyoyo/pseuds/Yodigittyyoyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sookie, an aspiring actress, gets her heel stuck in the windy streets of Rome and meets a man calling himself Ezio Auditore de Firenze. Eric/Sookie AU AH.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. J'aime Pamplemousse

Sookie's POV:

"J'aime pamplemousse! C'est une belle nuit. Où se trouvent les toilettes?"

I leaned against the stone wall of the hotel's façade as casually as I possibly could in five inch toothpick thin heels. The treacherous spikes I was supposed to be balancing on kept getting caught in the deep cracks gouged between misshapen pavers of the ancient Roman road. My pretty khaki mini skirt was ruffling indecently in the strong, temperate breeze gusting between the tall buildings that lined the road like a funnel.

"C'est merveilleux! Quelle heure est-il?"

The stone facade of my hotel had retained the heat of the day's bright sunshine, and I leaned further into the wall for warmth... and to hide my face some from the curious glances of passersby. The hour was late even by European standards and my outfit was too sparse for the weather, even by American standards. My left heel slipped further into a deep rut in the road and wedged itself firmly between the worn pavers.

"Shit!"

I'm sure I lost all semblance of casual by then – leaning against a wall in a scant white top, pressing a cell phone to my head with one hand, holding down my itty bitty skirt for dear life with the other, while trying to yank a ridiculously inappropriate shoe out of the road. Yeah, a hopeless attempt at casual had turned into a full on spectacle.

But I kept trying. "Di dove è?" I said brightly into the phone. Shit! That was Italian! I berated myself as I finally managed to free my shoe from its rocky prison. I felt the expensive leather scrape harshly against dirty, ragged stone as the rubber stamp on the heel popped off.

"Damn it!"

A woman in a scarf waked past at that moment and laughed. She probably had a face and hair and an outfit, but to my eyes she was 99.9% scarf. A scarf just laughed at me. This must be what rock bottom feels like. I leaned against the wall again and gave my ruse one more shot.

"Avez-vous visité le musée Lourve? Vous me manquez? Je t'aime!" I sang briskly into the cell.

I heard the phantom voice of The Scarf laughing at me in the distance. This is stupid. I truly hoped that no one else was listening in on my "conversation", because it was absolute nonsense.

Was there someone on the other end of that call? Nope. Am I French? Nope. Do I dress like this normally? Hell no. I'm not a prostitute. The sad thing was that I couldn't make that situation even remotely believable. Sighing in defeat, I lowered the phone from my ear, held down my mini skirt, and hobbled back into the hotel on broken Blahniks. I felt eyes on my back, as though the entire city of Rome had witnessed my failure alongside The Scarf.

I'm never going to make it as an actress.

The Palazzo Bernini Hotel was quaint, calm and comfortable. The small lobby was dimly lit with a warm orange glow that was somehow absorbed by the thick burgundy carpets and made the dark patina on the delicate antique furnishings shine. That shine drew my weary blue eyes to a highly polished wood bar at the other end of the lobby. Only a lonely-looking bartender and a pair of elderly gentlemen in the corner occupied the inviting room, and my feet moved in their direction quicker than you could say leather and liquor.

All three men looked up at me as I entered their quiet domain, but I was too disheartened to care what they thought of my windblown and disheartened appearance. I needed a damn drink. The elderly gentlemen quickly returned to their hushed confidences in the corner, and the bartender's face lit up with a kind smile.

"Buona sera signorina. Una donna così bella non dovrebbe essere così triste. What can I do for you?"

It was a common practice in the touristy areas of Europe to address people who looked like tourists in both languages. To my optimistic mind, it was to give the patron the opportunity to respond in whichever language they understood best, or perhaps to give locals with western tastes the benefit of the doubt. Either way, I was a Class A tourist but I did understand a bit of Italian, and found that people liked when you at least made an effort to speak their language.

"Grazie signore. Lo non sono ... just discouraged."

"Ah! Sapete alcuni Itallian!" The bartender beamed, the dim light transforming his weathered face into a map of tan, feathered wrinkles and divots. The man's smile was genuine and infectious. I felt my lips stretch into a smile in return as I sank down onto a squishy leather barstool.

"No, no. Not much. Erm, Io non ne so molto." I blushed, positive that I didn't pronounce the phrase correctly. Once my persistent self doubt shows up for a pity party, she stretches her poisonous fingers into every part of my brain.

"You speak Italian wonderfully, miss. It wouldn't matter how you speak in any language, piuttosto piccolo, sei così bella."

I blushed again. While unsure that I caught all of that, I did know that the kind man had just referred to me as beautiful. "Grazie."

"Il mio nome è Phabio. What can I get for you, piuttosto piccolo?"

Phabio, huh? That was actually quite endearing. I didn't have the foggiest what to order. All I knew is that I wanted something strong to smooth away the dent in my dreams the past hour had inflicted.

"La belle jeune femme aura un sambuca." I turned in my seat to see who had the audacity to order for me, and was dumbstruck. The stranger's piercing azure eyes stared straight into mine as I gaped… and a deep, sexy chuckle rumbled within his wide chest.

"Faire que deux."

Eric's POV:

It was a long day. Beyond long. It had been ridiculously fucking interminable. What was supposed to be an enjoyable holiday of a charitable consulting job had morphed into actual work. My appointments were either excruciatingly late or frustratingly fruitless, and every contact that made the time for me didn't have a scrap of information that couldn't be found through ad banners on the internet.

Historical facts regarding the Italian Renaissance weren't hard to come by, of course. American fourth graders knew more about Leonardo da Vinci than the current president of their own country. Galileo, Michelangelo, Raphael de Santi, Bernini, the Medici, the Borgia… all easy shit to research. But the underground clandestine factions? That was more difficult information to obtain, and for good reason. History is written by the victors, and as the Pirates of the Caribbean taught us - dead men tell no tales.

The breezy evening wasn't cold exactly, but I was relieved to enter the still air of my rented flat.

I shrugged my leather bike jacket off my shoulders and enjoyed the feel of freeing my naked arms from the garment's confines. One good thing about this pastime of mine was the welcome vacation from neckties. I rolled out my muscles in just a black tank top, enjoying the cool AC on my shoulders as I walked to my narrow window. The Piazza Bernini was nearly deserted except for the taxies, the periodic organ donors on scooters, and a few hurried pedestrians… and a woman with her shoe caught in the sidewalk.

I could tell that the wind was still gusting as it fanned and whipped the wavy mantle of blond locks around her face. The picture was comical; the woman was obviously on the phone, but the breeze had blown her hair to stick to her cherry pink chapstick. Her lips were sputtering while she talked, trying to dislodge the hair from her mouth, which she obviously couldn't do with her hand, as the one not holding the phone was desperately trying to keep her miniscule pleated skirt from flying away. Add in the fact that she was yanking her leg and wobbling to free herself from the SPQR she'd stuck herself in, and I couldn't help but laugh. My mirth rumbled through the spartan flat, and it felt so good to smile after such a trying day.

I had to know what this windblown, awkward girl was saying, so I opened the window despite the air conditioning. Breezy Phone Girl had won the battle with her shoe vs. the rutted Roman road, and leaned smoothly back against the Pal azzo Bernini Hotel. The wind halted suddenly and her hair settled. I stared at her intently, transfixed. Beautiful. She was so beautiful. Tousled gold waves framed a flushed, heart shaped face complete with wide blue eyes and bowed pink lips. Her small body was phenomenal, all curves and dips and smooth tan skin. Lovely though Breezy Phone Girl was, she looked a shade frantic as she spoke. I couldn't stop looking at her, and finally her voice carried to my open window on a puff of wind.

"Vous me manquez? Je t'aime."

Ah. Breezy French Phone Girl. In that instant I decided that after my long day I could use a drink… at the Palazzo Bernini Hotel.

Sookie's POV:

The burning liquid seared my throat in a delicious way, purifying my nerves from my faults. Not to mention that it was harshly delicious. The man sitting beside me was even tastier, and perhaps French? He didn't look French. In fact, he looked like a ruthless, muscular Viking with a sideways, sexy smile… absolutely not French. And he smelled good, like the ocean in winter. What a strange thought to have! But he spoke in French, so maybe he is…?

"Quel est votre nom?" I asked with halting diction. Blond French-Maybe-Guy looked a bit uncomfortable at my haphazard inquiry. I just asked for his name, right? I mentally reviewed the one French class I took on a whim in college…

" S'il vous plaît pardonnez-moi, belle, mais je ne connais pas beaucoup le français. Parlez-vous italien?"

Oh…. The guy doesn't speak much French and wants to try for Italian. I suck at both languages, so sure, why not?

"Naturalmente. Qual è il tuo nome?"

Mr. Viking seems to sigh with relief. Italian must be more comfortable for him. "Forse dovrei chiedere per il vostro primo, bellissima."

Nah uh. I was running this show. I gave the tall blonde man a look that meant business, and his lips twitched into a tiny smile.

"Sono Ezio Auditore."

I almost choked on my sambuca. "Ezio Auditore? Figlio di Auditore Lorenzo di Firenze?" This guy was sexy as all get out, but he couldn't be serious. The skin at the corners of his icy blue eyes tightened slightly as he stared me down.

"Si."

The choking noise that came from my throat was an incredulous laugh. I stood and tossed a few Euros onto the bar. Meeting this phony of a man just put the cherry on top of a truly disheartening day and I longed for the comfortingly lumpy single bed upstairs. I was tired, and tired meant English. "Well, it's wonderful to see that you survived the past five centuries, Segnor Ezio Auditore, figlio di Lorenzo di Firenze. You must be exhausted."

The Viking looked dumbstruck. "Wait, you're American?" I backed away with purpose. "What's your name?"

"I don't think so. Buonanotte, Ezio. Give my best to Ubisoft, you big faker." With that, I spun on my mangled heel and walked steadily up the two flights of stairs to my room, latched the door, and tumbled into the small, lumpy bed.

But it sure took a while to fall asleep...

Eric's POV:

Breezy American Girl just handed my ass to me, and I didn't even know her name! Phabio the bartender sported a suspiciously smug grin as he wiped down glasses at the opposite end of the bar, but I couldn't hold it against the older man. If I had witnessed that shit from anywhere other than where I was sitting, I sure as hell would have been trying not to laugh my ass off. I smiled at the guy instead, in a manner which I hoped came off as a tad apologetic and embarrassed.

"Any chance you could tell me her name, Segnor?"

The bartender set down the glass he was cleaning as his shoulders shook with mirth. "Mi dispiace ragazzo, non l'ho pescato. No, even if I had caught it I think you struck out there, Ezio."

I nodded and threw back the last of my drink, placed some money on the bar, and took my leave. The short walk back to my flat was quick but cold. The temperature had dropped significantly over the course of my excursion as though the weather felt like punctuating my failure with a few frigid slaps of wind. I resolved myself to forget Breezy American Girl thoroughly with a side trip to see my Roma booty call in the morning.

Selena is razor sharp, lusciously beautiful and sinfully sensual. I'd met her at an upscale club here a few years ago when the first Assassin's Creed was in preproduction, and we'd been off and on lovers ever since, but never anything more. Our personalities were so similar and stubborn that we couldn't even pleasantly agree on where to have lunch, let alone how to manage a long distance relationship. The only thing we were good together at was fucking… so that's all we did. No flowers, no dates, no anniversaries, no meeting relatives or friends. Never much meaningful conversation, just sex. Yeah, I'd go see Selena tomorrow and that will fix everything…

So why can't I stop thinking about her? I flopped down on my bed, frustrated. I suppose it didn't help that my small window faced the the vacant street, and I could easily see the entrance to the Hotel Bernini while I tried to fall asleep…

That must be why I didn't go to Selena's when I woke up the next morning. Calling her didn't even occur to me again. No, instead I hopped on my bike and tailed the chauffeured car she had slipped into and followed her to Vatican City like an obsessed stalker.

Vatican City

Sookie's POV:

The Sistine Chapel, like so many famous sites in Europe, underwhelmed me. Perhaps I envisioned angels shooting out of the walls in a vast, cavernous space that struck my senses dumb with its grandeur… but it didn't. Call me uncultured, but it was a small chapel made infinitely smaller by the amount whispering, damp tourists crammed into the small space. The ceiling was extraordinarily beautiful to be sure, but the mass of bodies coupled with the cat-calling and skirt-chasing antics of the Vatican Guard threw off my appreciation of the spectacular spot. A pair of particularly fervent silk festooned admirers called out to me specifically even as the speaker system called for solemn silence in the sacred place.

"Ciao, bella ragazza americana bionda! Tu, in gonna marrone sexy!

Care a fare un giro? I musei sono così noioso, e vi posso dimostrare molto di più!"

Once again, I was hindered by my minimal comprehension of the Italian language, but from the way the ridiculously dressed guards were staring at my body, I knew they were being crude. I was calling every Italian swear word to the forefront to yell at the smirking, inappropriate guards, when a warm palm lightly touched my bare shoulder.

"E 'proprio ora di molestare donne in una chiesa? E 'un privilegio limitato alla Guardia Svizzera?"

(Is it proper now to harass women in a church? Is it a privilege limited to the Swiss Guard?)

"No, signore. Ci scusiamo. Vi prego di continuare con il tour."

(No, sir. We apologize. Please continue with the tour.)

Aw crap. I knew that deep, husky voice to a tee already, despite having only one small, lie-driven conversation. Turning towards the source of the pressure on my shoulder, my eyes met the icy blue gaze of none other than Ezio Auditore, fictional historical video-game assassin.

"Not you again", I huffed. It wasn't the nicest thing to say after being sorta' rescued, but this guy had seriously pissed me off last night. I looked him over, took in his impressive stature which was impeccably encased in expensive-looking tailored dark gray slacks slung low on his hips and light turquoise V neck sweater that was just a shade too tight to be legal and probably cost more than my plane ticket across the pond. His face was just as much of a work of art as it had been yesterday, all defined angles and soft lips made infinitely sexier by the subtle blond stubble on his jaw, which hadn't been there when I first met him. His mesmerizing eyes were glowing with amusement as he looked down (way down) at me, and the whole package was so astoundingly sexy that it pissed me off even more. Why the fuck would a guy like this feel the need to lie to any woman as a pickup strategy? If I'd never heard this gorgeous man speak I'd be front row and center of the crowd of a hundred thousand women enthusiastically throwing their panties at his fucking feet! Dipshit…

By this time, I had definitely been staring for far too long, and "Ezio" chuckled. "Now, is that any way to thank someone who put a pair of pervs in their place for you, Breezy American Girl?"

What? Breezy… what? I strategically chose to ignore whatever that was in the interest of a speedy escape. There wasn't any need to have another conversation with this guy, so I opted for cutting politeness.

"You're correct. I apologize, Mr. Auditore, and thank you for your assistance." Ok, so maybe I missed the mark on the politeness thing, because even I could hear the acid in my voice when I spat out the ridiculous name Liar Liar Pants on Fire had given me twelve or so hours ago. I spun on my heel as smoothly as possible in the crush, fully intending to make a dramatic, if obstructed, storm out of the Sistine Chapel. I shoved through a group of eager tourists trying to sneakily snap forbidden photos as I pulled out my phone, intending to call my driver for a pick up and hour earlier than expected. Spectacular once-in-a-lifetime spot it might be, my interest in Vatican City was just thoroughly squashed.

I was navigating through more tourists and my contact list when my pretty new iPhone 4 was snagged out of my hand. "HEY!" My shout in the relatively quiet place was met with nasty glares from other people violating the rules of church etiquette. Dickheads.

My phone was, unsurprisingly, in the grasp of one sexy ass lying bastard, whose large fingers flew across the screen with more speed and accuracy than should have been possible. "Ezio"s face wasn't smiling when he handed the device back a moment later.

"Just in case you feel like being mature, and would maybe like to have a drink and hear a civil apology..." The big man melted away into the crowd, which was quite the feat. I shoved my way out in the opposite direction. Once I emerged into the brisk, fresh fall air swirling between the huge marble columns of Vatican Square and warm sunshine had a chance to clear my head, I looked at my phone. My contact list was still open, but with a new addition. In big, black font, the entry had a string of numbers, an email address, and one name:

Eric Northman.

I let myself give a tiny sigh and an even tinier smile before gently slipping the cell into my worn Coach bag. I just knew he was a Viking…

Eric's POV:

Holy shit. Breezy American Girl is so fucking stubborn! I know I fucked up, but it was painfully obvious the woman was as completely attracted to me as I am to her. It took all of my willpower to keep my dick down while she eye fucked me in the Sistine fucking Chapel, which is a good thing because whether she realized it or not, she straight up stared at my junk for a good five seconds, and my chest for almost ten. Fuck! Even in a church I wanted to growl like an animal, shove her against the closest wall and fuck her against a Michelangelo fucking fresco until she went blind!

Fuck. I know I'm completely worked up when I use the F word in every possible sense in my internal monologue. The bitch! Fucking sexy as fuck bitch… God, I hope she calls so I can at least explain myself… and screw her brains out. Good thing I know my way around an iPhone. If she doesn't call me then I can call her…

I grabbed my own phone and checked the incoming texts. At the top of the long list was a message from an unknown number… the text said "Gotcha". I smirked to myself as I saved her number in my contacts and whistled as I made my way to the black Ducati parked just outside of Vatican City.


	2. Piazza Navona

Sookie's POV:

The crowd was lively in the Piazza Navona. Bright mid afternoon sunshine beat down and warmed the enormous plaza teeming with street performers, artists, vendors, and the halting flow of milling tourists. Groups of local children chased passersby with baskets brimming with nosegays of wildflowers and herbs tied together with twine. Shady figures peddled knock-off designer handbags and illegal prints, only to expertly sweep them away at the first glimpse of the polizia. I walked along idly, stopping every now and then to admire the multitude of wares on display and the stunning sculptures and facades of the incomparable city.

The pleated full skirt of my yellow and white sundress swished against my bare legs as I strolled, and the light breeze gently swayed the locks that had escaped from the loose side braid around my face. A crochet shrug and white flats completed my outfit for the day (I'd learned to leave the heels at the hotel), and for all my carefree appearance I was careful to keep a tight hold on my completely zipped purse.

Eventually the sun sank lower. Long shadows cast by the colossal obelisk perched atop the opulent Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi stretched across the square. I paused in my perusal of beautiful Italian glass necklaces to admire the gold lights glittering across the water. My eyes followed the shadow, and lo and behold! It pointed directly to a gelato shop! Don't mind if I do.

After a quick haggle which gained me a lovely necklace and matching earrings for a very reasonable price, I headed straight over to the sweet-smelling shop. Despite being relatively busy, I shortly found myself shoved right up to the counter.

"Si prega di bella signora, dopo di te!"

"Una donna così bella non avrebbe dovuto aspettare."

"Prego!"

If I'd learned anything in my short time here in Rome, it had to be that Italian men really seemed to like me… or maybe just blond young women in general. I tried to insist that I wait in line, but they would have none of it. Finally I nodded gratefully and blushed with embarrassment at the smiling patrons as I slid up to the counter.

"Benvenuto giovane donna. What would you like?" The tan man behind the counter was perhaps in his mid thirties with a pleasant face and a compact, fit build. A shock of think, untidy black hair stuck out in different directions, but not in a styled Hollywood sort of way. The look seemed more that of a man who frequently ran his fingers through his hair and never bothered with how the locks sat. It was endearing. His eyes were the striking color of melted caramel swirled with honey, and straight white teeth set off his dark skin. Gelato Guy was actually… quite handsome.

Gelato Guy's glittering smile grew wider as the seconds ticked by. I blushed when I realized I'd made yet another blunder and quickly scanned the menu. Unfortunately for me, the menu was entirely in Italian, and my muddled brain wasn't up to the task of trying to figure it out. I had just resolved to point at something and hope it tasted good, when Gelato Guy seemed to take pity on me. With a quick snap to someone else behind the counter, he yelled: "Paola! Venite a servire i clienti!"

A small, younger woman came bustling to the counter from what I assumed was the back of the shop. Her pretty, thin face was pinched with annoyance. "Perché avete bisogno di me per servire? Dove stai andando?" 

Gelato Guy spared an exasperated glance at the girl before taking my hand across the counter and pulling me off toward the opposite side of the shop, freeing up the space for the line I had been holding up. "Sto aiutando un cliente, sorella. Fare quello che ti viene ditto!"

Annoyed Girl cast one glance at me and our still connected hands and scoffed. "Cliente. A destra. Godetevi il vostro "cliente", fratello."

The men in the crowded shop started to guffaw behind my back, and I was beyond ready to bolt from the shop, ice cream or no. Gelato Guy seemed to sense my distress. "Forgive my sister, bellisima. She is stubborn as a mule."

I glanced toward the door, gently pulling my hand away so as not to offend the man. "No, I apologize. I didn't mean to cause ya'll any trouble." Inching slowly backward, I raised my hand to give a short goodbye wave. His caramel eyes grew wide when he noticed my retreat. "You cannot leave without a gelato! Please, bellisima." And there was that smile again. Oh well, I've already caused this much trouble for the sake of my sweet tooth… I walked reluctantly back to the counter.

"Very good! Let me see. Will you allow me to choose for you, bellisima?" Gelato Guy seemed to take my return as a win and his expression was eager and boyish. I nodded in agreement. Strong hands clapped together lightly as he ducked behind the counter, examining the flavors. Every now and again his playful face would peek at me over the counter with narrow eyes, assess me for a moment, then mumble "no no no…". Finally, he clapped again. "Ah, perfetto!"

The handsome guy came up with two cups of caffé gelato, drizzled with delicate webs of golden caramel. His warm, dry hand brushed my skin lightly as he handed over the treat. Plunging a plastic spoon into the other cup, he gestured at me to try my own. The small spoonful was a delightful mix of coffee and cream. The hint of warm caramel nearly made me swoon, and the moan that escaped my throat was impossible to hold back.

"Ohmy gawd hiss esh wonderful!" It wasn't ladylike to talk with food in one's mouth, but I had to give immediate praise. Gelato Guy was staring at my lips, beaming to beat the band.

"Will you eat with me, mia bella? It is time I took a break, and I could not imagine better company to spend the time with."

The gelato was delicious, sure, but I didn't know this guy from Adam. Foreign countries tended to not be ideal for lone travelling women. I learned that from the movie Hostel. Rome may not be Slovakia, but one could never be too careful. Besides, I didn't even know this guy's name –

"Mio Dio!" Gelato Guy suddenly slapped his hand over his eyes, looking chagrinned. "Forgive me bellisima, your beauty has robbed me of manners. My name is Stefano. Si prega di dirmi il suo nome?"

Stefano, huh? He looked like a Stefano, and I can't say I'd ever spotted a headline that read "12 Bodies Found Buried Beneath Stefano the Attractive Ice Cream Dealer's Shop". After mulling it over for a moment, I extended my hand to shake.

"I'm Sookie. Pleased to make you acquaintance, Stefano. Sure you can join me. How much do I owe you for the gelato?" I rummaged around in my handbag for my travel wallet with my free hand.

"No, no, no, lovely Sookie (he pronounced it Soohkey)! Prego, it is free." With another smile he kissed me knuckles and hopped over the countertop like he was part jungle cat. Tugging me gently and beaming, I followed Stefano the Gelato Guy out into the waning sunlight of the Piazza Navona.

Eric's POV:

This is insane. The well appointed yet drafty medieval office felt like a rug museum, or where the tatters of ancient and stained linens went to die. Perhaps it was Fruit of the Loom's purgatory. Frayed and faded tapestries hung from every cold stone wall of the octagonal turret room like decrepit sheets of priceless, lumpy wallpaper. Equally abused and mangled area rugs overlapped one another on the already uneven floor. The cacophony of intricate patterns, both dull and bright, created not so much of a collaboration of color as a battle of dizzying decay. Heavy antique furnishings added to the confusion rather than grounding it, as the overlapping rugs made everything atop it sit slightly askew. I would equate the sensation to a dream where nothing is ever quite right, or a Dutch angle on film.

It was impossible to stop myself from rocking the heavy chair I was seated on from side to side. Right: three legs on the floor, one leg off. Left: one leg off the floor, three on.

Despite the drafty, warped window panes, the somewhat damp space reeked of mothballs and some other scent that could only be described as… old. I had a feeling that a hazmat team wielding a fire hose spewing Febreeze would be unsuccessful at defeating the choking musk.

Professor Giovanni Damiano, PhD, fit in perfectly with his office. A paisley silk vest that had seen better decades was at total odds with a newish corduroy blazer complete with leather elbow patches. His tan linen shirt, which had never met a can of starch, was open at his wrinkled throat which somehow seamlessly transitioned into an impressive set of jowls. Wiry white stubble covered the professor's stoic face, scratching against his half-smoked cigar. The halo of white, wispy hair perched atop the man's head reminded me of Albert Einstein's famous photo, minus the air of whimsy. This all might have added up to a comical picture were it not for Giovanni's piercing gray eyes. They were clear and sharp as tacks, cold as ice; they were the definitive sign of a man who missed nothing, who knew more than most, and assessed every detail of the world around him… except obviously, his wardrobe.

It took a lot of needling and cajoling to get this interview. Dr. Damiano was by most definitions a recluse, a man so plagued with intellect that it drove him to seek no company but his own. To my knowledge, his title at the Cambridge Department of Italian had been relegated to honorary status following his retirement, but there still existed no more educated person in the study of Medieval Italy.

Honored as I was to be one of a thousand approved to meet with Dr. Damiano, I found myself distracted. Asking concise questions and keeping detailed notes were easy and brainless tasks for me, as were posing pertinent follow up queries. My head wasn't completely in the game, but I figured that the tape recorder running on the distressed desktop would take care of anything I might overlook.

During a particularly long diatribe concerning peasant horse blanket weaving, I stealthily took a glance at my watch. I wonder where Sookie is?

At least I thought I had been sneaky.

"Are we losing interest already, Video Game Boy?" Giovanni steepled his gnarled fingers and stared at me steadily.

Caught red handed… er, red-watched. "Of course not, Sir. I apologize. Please continue." The nickname he had referred to me as since our introduction grated on my patience, but I kept it well hidden behind a fixed, polite smile. For the first time in the interview, the venerable doctor cracked a sly smile.

"Who is she, Mr. Northman." It wasn't phrased as a request, but as an astute observation. A weak attempt at a denial was brushed away by Dr. Damiano's hand and a puff of sickly sweet smoke. "Do not think me a fool, young man." His raspy voice was firm, but his eyes showed a flash of enjoyment. Against my better judgment, I gave in.

"Her name is Sookie." Just saying Breezy American Girl's name made me want to tug my hair with frustration. And jerk off.

"Ah", he sighed wistfully. "American, correct? Blond, bubbly and beautiful?"

Stunned, I could only manage to whisper, "How…?"

"Nuance, Mr. Northman. Nuance. One does not get to be my age without recognizing subtleties. That look, worn on the face of a man such as you, can only mean a woman… and only one kind of woman can inspire it."

"And what kind of woman is that, Dr. Damiano?"

The sly smile widened into a real Cheshire grin. "The right woman." I had nothing to say to that.

"She is here, is she not?" The elderly man regained his brisk appearance as though a light switch had been flipped.

"Yes Sir, she is." I wasn't quite sure where he was going with this. The doctor stood suddenly, wafting a fresh cloud of mothball and smoke scented air in my face. Oddly, it no longer bothered me. He gestured toward the door with a few quick waves of his cigar.

"Then go, lad." I desperately wanted to go find Sookie, but I couldn't miss this opportunity. I stayed seated.

"Sir, she can wait. We aren't finished yet. There is so much more I'd like to –"

Dr. Damiano scoffed and gestured more urgently. "No, Mr. Northman, I can wait. I am but an old tedious man who will be here tomorrow still spouting details of things long past. Now, a beautiful woman, THE beautiful woman, will never wait long for her future to begin."

I couldn't help the reluctance I felt even as my limbs packed up my notebook, recorder and accessories without my express permission. As if he could feel how torn I still was, Dr. Damiano shot me another level gaze. "I will be here tomorrow, and the next day, and all the days after that. Come and go as you please, I will alert my staff. My knowledge is yours to share whenever you wish, but come bearing happy tales as I find myself most interested in helping a young man find love."

Bag packed, I reached over to shake his frail hand. "Thank you, Dr. Damiano. I shall see you tomorrow."

The old man bowed slightly and stiffly. "Giovanni."

Another honor. "Eric", I replied.

"Go, Eric." With a smile I turned and ran out of the office.

It was nearly seven PM by the time I slid my Ducati to a stop in front of the Palazzo Bernini Hotel. Breathless with excitement, I jogged into the hotel bar to see Phabio wiping down glasses as usual. The bartender smiled at me warmly. Despite being in here every evening for the past three days in the hopes of seeing Sookie, Phabio had almost taken a shine to me. Last night he had even upgraded me from "stalker" to "ammiratore", which I took as a good sign. Ordering my drink, I raised an eyebrow at the older gentleman. He knew this routine of information gathering on my part, and for the first time I saw his smile sag a bit.

"Non so dove si trova, signore. (I don't know where she is, sir.) She left this morning for the Piazza Navona and has not returned. La bella usually returns to freshen up before the evening."

I tossed twenty Euros on the bar without even thinking and dashed back to my bike.

Sookie's POV:

Three days. Three consecutive days had passed since I had last encountered The Viking and his smug demeanor. Three blissful days without his arrogant smirks and designer clothes and pushy gestures. Three peaceful days of sunshine and pasta, sightseeing and shopping. Three whole days.

Stefano was proving to be wonderful and attentive company, talking quickly and easily with his smooth baritone accent. He seemed to be enjoying my southern drawl as well, insisting that I say certain words he found particularly cute a few times while he smiled. This sort of thing irritated me in a lot of situations, but there was something about the combination of the caramel melting on my tongue and the caramel swirling in his expressive eyes that made the subject of my accent seem anything but insulting.

As we sat at a intricately styled wrought iron table beneath a wide umbrella in the outdoor tratoria, everything felt quite nice. This is what vacations should be, even if the initial intention had been work… or rather, research for potential work. My less than stellar acting skills had all but closed that door in my face anyway, so I saw no reason not to relax with a handsome man as the sun set across Rome.

Finally, we were scraping at the bottom of our Styrofoam cups. I had eaten more these past few days than I had in a week at home, and I felt like a blimp. Sleep would help that, I knew, so I rose to take my leave.

"Thank you, Stefano, for a wonderful afternoon. The gelato was truly delicious."

"Prego, bellisima! But Sookie, you cannot mean to leave me now?" A dusky, warm hand gently grabbed my wrist and brought my knuckles to his lips for another kiss. "There is a club just down the way; I can drive you, yes? Come, it will be fun!" His eyes were shining with excitement again, but I really wasn't up to dancing after all that sugar.

"No really, I have'ta go. Maybe another time." I made to pull away again, but Stefano held my hand fast, tugging me steadily towards a red scooter parked on the sidewalk in a darkened alleyway not twenty feet away. Alarm bells sounded in my head as I gazed around the nearly empty square. The vendors and kiosks had closed down with the setting sun. Remaining stragglers were either walking briskly towards restaurants or clustered around the magnificent lighted fountains, which were quite far away. Stefano's gelato shop was closed for the evening, and the intermittent streetlamps did no better than cast weak yellow circles of light on the worn pavers. A brisk wind picked up as I was led closer toward the scooter in the alley, which in comparison to the ill-lit piazza resembled a pitch black tunnel.

I tried again to somewhat politely decline. "Stefano, I really must insist that you let me go. I am not going to any club tonight, I'm going back to my hotel." His big hand kept pulling.

"Allow me to give you a lift then, bellisima! I can drive much faster than you can walk."

"No, no thank you. I appreciate it, but I'd rather not."

"Come Sookie, it is but a short ride."

The alarm bells increased in volume, ringing deafeningly between my ears. I dug my heels into the street. "And how would you know how far away my hotel is?"

A beat of silence. A flash of annoyance in the dim yellow light. "All hotels are close to the Piazza Navona."

Bullshit. "Let me go right this instant or I'll scream my head off." The caramel eyes I had been admiring all evening turned an ugly, murky brown as one hand slapped over my mouth and another steel-like band encircled my waist, hauling my back tight against his chest. I couldn't scream, I could barely move…

I should have watched Hostel a few more times…

Eric's POV:

The Piazza Navona was a ghost town, empty and dark. Sudden chill gusts of wind whistled through the intricate stone fountains, the wind's force scattering sprays of water across the ground. It wasn't strictly legal to drive in the square, but I had a bad feeling. A really bad feeling that festered and ate at the pit of my stomach, and no traffic law would keep me from finding Sookie as fast as humanly possible. I knew there was a high probability that she was simply having a nice dinner, perhaps with a few other single women she happened to meet in the market. Maybe they were enjoying a bottle of Chianti and lemon cello in a well lit and busy tratoria, talking about the things that single travelling young women talk about. Maybe I'd be making a giant overbearing ass out of myself by barging in, playing the role of rescuer when clearly no rescue was required.

Or maybe…

A muffled shriek echoed across the vast piazza. In the distance I could just barely make out a dark figure… maybe two dark figures? Dancing? No… struggling? Another muffled yell carried on the wind, and I hit the gas, roaring the engine at top speed across the square. A flash of fluttering yellow and gold. Sookie! My eyes saw red as the picture grew in focus and closed in distance. Blue eyes wide with terror, arms dragging her into the darkness.

Fury. All I could feel, all I could smell and taste and touch and hear was Fury.

Sookie's POV:

No, no, no! Digging my heels in proved ineffective as I was suddenly being carried rather than dragged. I used my feet to kick instead, connecting with any part of my attacker I could with as much power as I could muster. A particularly hard heel to the shin made Stefano stagger.

"Cagna! And to think I was planning on having you enjoy this! Stupida puttana americano!"

Again unsure of the exact words, I knew the guy wasn't praising me on my meager self-defense skills, or my ladylike deportment, but I'd be damned if Gran raised me to go down without one heck of a fight! Still kicking and ineffectively screaming, it took a moment for either Stefano or I to register the sound of a roaring engine closing in fast. A massive figure, dressed head to toe in black leather zoomed toward us at breakneck speed. I trembled at this new horror, cringing away from the certainty that I was about to become a smear on the dirty Roman bricks.

At the very last second, the growling black bike whipped sideways and skidded. The driver was wearing a shiny black helmet with a dark Plexiglas faceguard, and he whipped a menacing black pistol from the back of his pants in what appeared to be a perfected movement. When the bike finally stopped, the muzzle of the gun was pointed straight at Stefano's shaggy forehead.

"Let her go", the Black Knight rumbled. The deep voice was distorted by the helmet, but there was no mistaking the warning in his ominous tone. This man would have no problem with blowing my captor's brain matter all over the alley.

"NOW!" The Black Knight roared when Stefano didn't move a muscle. He quickly released me and turned to run. A warning shot rang out like thunder in the alleyway. "Name, asshole."

My would-be attacker was torn between running, answering, and pissing himself. "Stefano." Another shot discharged into the sky. "REAL NAME!"

This time, Stefano really did piss himself. "T-Tito. Tito Tammaro!"

Oh good Lord. Tito? Seriously? I need to have my head examined for excessive gullibility disorder.

Without turning the gun away from Tito Tammaro, the Black Knight nodded me toward the back of his bike. "Get on." I was too grateful to reconsider, and hopped on the back of the massive black bike, holding on for dear life as we jetted away from the scene.

Hanging off the back of a speeding motorcycle clutching my slightly scary-looking savior, the enormity of the situation he had saved me from finally sunk in. Ancient ruins whizzed by with my face pressed tightly against a black leather jacket, hiding from the wind and the world. Hot tears streaked from my eyes and I started to shiver and shake. How could I have been so stupid? My first foray alone into a foreign country and I nearly fall victim to a guy who gave me free fucking ice cream! It was beyond absurd, and for the first time since I had run across the man who I was positive was the bane of my existence, I actually wished for Eric Northman's smiling face.

He may be crude and possibly a stalker, but he felt safe… even safer than this stranger who saved me from certain defilement. Something about The Viking felt like, I don't know, home. Nothing could touch me when he was near. It was an easy decision to make when I decided to call Eric right after the Black Knight dropped me off at the Hotel Bernini. Somehow I knew, just knew, that seeing his smug face would make everything make sense again. In this strange and dangerous place, he was already my balance.

The tears wouldn't stop, and I found myself moaning. "Eric. I need Eric."

"Shhh", the black leather jacket rumbled gently beneath my cheek. "It's ok Sookie. I'm here. Don't cry, sweetheart. You're safe."

I was hallucinating now. Great. I managed to hold on until the motorcycle rolled to a stop in front of a towering stone building before I sagged with exhaustion, pulled down into a pit of blackness.


	3. Need You

Sookie's POV:

In a void of pitch darkness, I was forcibly awakened by a noisy construction crew. Why the heck the city decided to jackhammer up the street in the middle of the night was beyond me, but the incessant pounding wasn't merely irritating, it was excruciating. Each smash of metal to rock vibrated like pointy rocks cracking against each other in my skull. I moaned in pain while sluggishly attempting to maneuver my head beneath the lumpy hotel pillow. I finally managed it, pleased to find that the pillow was less misshapen than usual, but despite my best efforts the noise didn't decrease a single decibel. On the plus side, for the first time on this trip the stench of antique furniture polish wasn't invading my nose, nor was the bustle and coughs of the elderly couple staying in the next room echoing through the walls. In fact, despite the pounding, it was unusually nice.

Quiet footsteps padded on the carpet nearby. Ah, there are the old folk. Perhaps they're off to complain… The steps got closer and closer, but I was used to the paper thin partition by now. It wasn't until I heard a soft chuckle, a brief clink of porcelain, and pressure sink the mattress beside me that I realized someone was in my room. I sat up with a hoarse shriek, flinging the pillow at whoever had broken in.

Another laugh, low but ringing with relief. "Hey now, is that anyway to say good morning?" Breathless and startled, I took a moment to absorb my surroundings. This room was a lot larger than my cramped, musty home in the hotel. Wide windows were dark behind drawn sheer panels, and a few large candles illuminated the space. Rather than antiques, the flat was furnished with more contemporary furniture made of dark woods and soft looking leather. Cream colored carpet was so thick over a hardwood floor it looked like to step on it would be heaven. A simple crystal and iron chandelier hung from the tall ceiling, also low lit, casting colorful glints of light across everything. The bed I was lying in was an enormous sleigh design, also of dark sturdy wood, and draped over me was an honest to goodness gray fur blanket. I noticed all this in the space of two, maybe three seconds, when my eyes caught something else shiny. Sitting on a very masculine chair by a daunting fireplace was a black motorcycle helmet.

"Wha-?" Clearly, the Black Knight had taken me home… his home.

Eric's POV:

If feeling Sookie cry and tremble against my back as she clutched me like her life depended on it was heartbreaking, feeling her droop and faint behind me on the bike was downright terrifying. I wasn't exactly in the best position to catch her before she hit the road, so I hopped off the bike without a thought for my expensive machine and hauled her limp body off the seat as my beloved Ducati tipped over and crashed to the pavement on its side. Damn!

I wasn't about to set Sookie on the sidewalk just to pick up a motorcycle, so I yanked out the keys and carried the unconscious girl up to my flat. After removing her shoes, lighting a few low lamps and tucking her shivering body in my bed, I dashed back to the street to prop my bike back up. It was impossible not to cringe at the scrapes and small dent in the bike's sleek chassis, but again I had more important things to worry about. I dusted the bike off briefly as a pair of Australian tourists came into view, huddled in thick coats.

"Bad luck, eh mate?" The guy gave me a look of man-sympathy as his woman giggled.

"Fuckin' A right", I grunted angrily as I bounded into the building. Behind me I heard the woman give an affronted huff and sneer: "Americans."

I smiled for the first time in hours as I jogged my way up the series of staircases.

The flat was cozy and warm with the low lighting. Sookie was still completely out, and her tangled golden hair fanned out in mussed curls across y pillows. I leaned over to check her breathing pattern, and took a few extra seconds to smell her sweet skin, made slightly salty with the dried tears that had flowed down her flawless skin in the cold wind. They were the only visible sign that this beautiful woman had been through anything traumatic this night; her dark, thick eyelashes rested unmoving on her pink cheeks like a china doll's, and her lush lips were slightly parted with her breaths. The picture of her was that of Sleeping Beauty, if the princess had a bit of a crying jag before she drifted off in her gothic tower.

As happy as it would have made me to stay by her side, I didn't want to startle my Sleeping Beauty when she awoke. I changed quickly out of my leathers and into a pair of flannel pants, then reluctantly settled into an armchair beside the fireplace with a book, lighting a few candles so I could peruse Historia Florentini populi by Leonardo Bruni while I waited.

Hours later I woke up with a cramp in my leg and the generously dog-eared book balanced over my eyes, curled up in the strangest and most uncomfortable position my sleep-self could come up with. Pops and cracks clipped when I stretched, and I cursed the day I decided against purchasing the matching ottoman for this stupid chair. My sleep-self could obviously not be trusted to take care of my body without one. Bastard.

A small moan came from the bed, and Sookie stirred a little. It was easy to tell that she was still asleep, but she would probably wake up soon. The clock read 3:45am. Fuck. I ran my hand along my jaw testing the stubble that had just moved past the scratchy stage to sort of soft. Tea. She was going to need tea and at least two aspirin. I trudged off to the kitchen, aching and cracking, to make a pot and dig through the medicine cabinet. Careful to turn off the kitchen light, I walked as quietly as possible into the bedroom, but when I saw her I couldn't help but laugh.

Sookie, groaning, had apparently attempted to stuff her head underneath the pillow, but was only partially successful. Her eyes were covered, but her nose was squashed against the rumpled pillow case which she had folded over in an attempt to cover her ear. Locks of her hair were twisted in the scrunched up fabric and her little legs kicked a bit underneath the covers as she tried to wiggle her way further beneath the pillow. There were no words for how fucking cute she was. Luckily, I set down the mugs before said wrinkled pillow was flung at my face. I kept laughing, even though she was obviously startled. Too damn fucking cute!

She looked around for a moment, at everything but me, her eyes darting left and right, up and down. Sookie's lips formed a perfect pink O as she spotted something on the other side of the room – I'd be damned if I knew what it was – and she finally looked at me. Like a fish out of water, she gaped for a second, reaching out slightly as though she needed to touch me to make sure I was real…

And then I was attacked.

"ERIC!" Sookie yelped and tackled me backwards on the bed which bounced under our combined weight. "It WAS you! Eric, oh Eric!" For such a slight woman, Sookie could sure hug like a vise. Her thin arms and legs attached to my torso like a barnacle on a boat hull; it would probably take a sandblaster to get her off, but I was far too happy to even consider removing her. Plus, I'm pretty sure barnacles didn't plant fast little kisses on every inch of the hull they could reach.

I chuckled as she peppered my shoulder with quick pecks, pleased beyond belief. They weren't passionate kisses by any means, but expressions of gratitude. By god, I'd take 'em!

"If I had known all it would take for you to like me was saving you again I would have done it days ago." Sookie stopped immediately and sat up blushing. "OH MY GOODNESS!" She cried, covering her face with her hands. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me!"

It took me several seconds to ignore the hot-as-fuck fact that she was still straddling my hips and that her little yellow and white sundress, rumpled from sleep, was hiked way up exposing her lean, tanned thighs to my hungry eyes. I grabbed her hips and pulled her a bit farther up onto my stomach so there was less chance of her noticing the effect she was having on me. Sometime soon she would be mine, but right after an ordeal like that probably wasn't the most ideal moment.

"It's quite alright, Sookie. I certainly don't have a problem with being thanked by you." I gave her my best sexy-yet-unthreatening smile. Her little hands fell to her thighs as Sookie stared down at me, yet again, with wide blue eyes. Like a flipped switch, the beautiful woman went from embarrassed to laughing hysterically in the space of a second. She slid to the side, falling to the fur covers with mirth. Perhaps the experience hours earlier had cracked her a bit? Was she in shock? I wanted to lean over her to do a more clinical assessment, but her leg was still draped across my stomach.

Gift horse. Mouth. Not looking at it.

Instead, I pointed at the nightstand. "I brought you some tea and a few aspirin in case you had a headache. She was still smiling when she lifted up to crawl up the bed toward the steaming mugs. Don't look at her ass, don't look at her ass, don't look at her – DAMNIT. Try as I might, it was impossible not to watch the white lace hem that barely covered anything as she crawled unsteadily. Yep, matching white lace panties. Giant hard on. Are you happy now, Northman? You insensitive jackass…

Sookie sat on her heels, taking grateful gulps of her tea, while I tried to hide my situation somehow. The low moans of enjoyment as she drank the warm liquid didn't help anything, nor did the fact that my dumb ass hadn't put on a shirt, so folding up wasn't an option. Sideways looked like I was smuggling a barbell in my pants – also unacceptable. The only viable option I could come up with in the limited time I had left with her back turned (Sookie was swallowing the pills one at a time) was to sit in an awkward Indian style with my dick in my pant leg. I felt stupid, so I knew I must've looked stupid, but I was out of time.

My Breezy American Girl turned back to me, her face flushed with warmth, and sat with her legs folded demurely underneath her as if she hadn't just flashed her panties at me a minute earlier. A happy sigh fell from her pouty lips (don't think about them wrapped around my – DAMNIT!), before she shot me a puzzled look.

"Why are you sitting like that? It looks uncomfortable." Shit balls.

"I'm fine, Sookie", I lied, "how are you feeling?" Diverting attention away from my weird position seemed the best idea.

"Great, actually. I'm really sorry about how I reacted… I just… was really happy to see you." Bright rose tinted her cheekbones as she looked down, plucking lightly at the fur blanket. She bit her lip, and I disguised a primal groan with a laugh.

"Yes, I noticed that. Why? I mean, why me?" This I actually was very interested to know. Sookie's eyes stayed trained on the coverlet.

"Well, I was so afraid. I know it had been a few days, but somehow I knew that if you were with me… I'd be safe. You make me feel safe." Her straight white teeth went back the chewing on her lower lip.

Safe. That was something at least. "I thought you hated me."

"I thought I did too."

"What changed?"

She took a shaky breath. "When I was being, ya know, I wasn't thinking about much but getting away. But there were other things too, not truly formed thoughts, more like feelings. Regret and fear and anger… and only when I was on the back of that bike and safe, I realized that despite everything… well, seeing you made me feel even safer than the Black Knight did."

I smiled smugly. "Black Knight, huh?" She blushed again and became defensive.

"Yeah! I mean, what else should I have called a man who rides up on a black stallion, dressed completely in black, to save a lady in distress?"

A chuckle escaped my throat at the image she painted. "It was a Ducati, not a stallion."

"Semantics."

She tossed her hair, and her haughtier was adorable. "So when you thought this Black Knight was a stranger, you still considered my presence safer than that of the man who saved you?"

Sookie held her head high and looked me straight in the eyes. "Yes." She unfolded her legs and scooted closer to me. "I know it doesn't make sense, but I needed you. I need you, even if you can be a scheming liar." A glimmer of amusement shined in her azure eyes.

"About that –" I wanted to explain, but she cut me off with a push to my bare shoulders which had me falling back to the bed. Uh oh. In this prone position there was no hiding the situation in my thin flannel pants. My hard on hadn't calmed down one bit, and the bastard was now on full display, straining to pop the flimsy buttons off my pjs. Sookie looked down at my lap and her mouth hung open. The jig is up.

Out of nowhere, a glowing smile lit up her incomparable face, a smile which robbed me of breath. She kept speaking as though she had never paused.

"Unless I'm very much mistaken, I think you need me too, Eric." Sookie climbed over to straddle my hips once again as I stared up at her in awe. Her warm, smooth hands lightly travelled up my chest and across my collarbones to caress my shoulder muscles. Her hooded gaze watched her fingers trace along my skin and up either side of my neck, finally stopping to rest on my jaw and cheeks. Was this really happening? Was she in shock still? Should I stop her? It felt so perfect, but I didn't want to push her…

Sookie leaned down, tangled spirals of gold and honey framing her delicate beauty, shielding her and I together like a soft curtain. At the first brush of her lips against mine, I ceased to think and my body took over completely. With a gasp, I grasped her hips tight, pressing her center against my straining erection. Sookie's hands plunged into my hair, tugging and tangling it frantically as our mouths tried to devour each other's. I kissed down her jaw and neck as my goddess arched and moaned against me, pressing her breasts forward as her head fell back. Supporting her back with one hand, I used the other to yank the sundress over her head by the hem before lifting her completely and tossing her on her back. Sookie's full, soft braless breasts bounced as I fell on top of her, my hips fitting perfectly between her spread thighs like she was made just for me.

Sparks danced across my skin, sizzling wherever she touched me – a sensation I had always considered a myth. Romantics made that shit up, that level of passion, chemistry and desire… but this was real. Oh so real.

The heavy, perky flesh of her breasts filled my large hands, and I kneaded and revered them while I kissed her honey lips and sucked her candy tongue. Sookie was a gourmet banquet, and as much as I wanted to taste all of her, I knew we needed each other too badly. I needed her. She needed me.

In an elegant tangle of creamy, lithe limbs, Sookie was straddling me again, grinding down on me and rubbing her breasts on my chest as she sucked on the sensitive skin below my ear. The sensations were too much, too amazing. My hand swept up the inside of her thigh and pushed the damp fabric of her panties aside, granting me access to stroke her silky wet heat.

"Oh!" She moaned against my shoulder, moving her hips back and forth on my fingers. Almost absently, her hands slid down to tug at the waistband of my pants. Understanding what she wanted, I shimmied and kicked the offending flannel off towards the end of the bed. Sookie's hands were still busy somewhere. I couldn't see with her hair splayed across my face. Breathing hard and chest heaving, she sat up. The light sheen of sweat glowing on her skin and well-kissed lips almost distracted me enough to not notice what she was doing. Ribbons. Her thin fingers were hastily pulling apart white satin bows tied at her hips. My oversexed brain finally got the picture when the second bow came undone and the little lace panties fell apart before being instantly tossed across the bedroom.

Whoever invented those deserves a fucking Nobel Sex Prize.

Her gaze burning with lust and passion, the amazing woman above me stroked me a few times before raising up on her knees and rubbing the tip back and forth, coating my aching dick with her slick arousal. She placed me at the exact right spot and slowly sank down, taking me inside of her tight, burning body. My hips jerked with ecstasy and my heart skipped a beat. Sookie sat still for a moment, panting hard with head thrown back, resting her hands behind her on my thighs. Her stomach was perfectly flat and straining, her breasts pointed upwards as if defying all gravity, the column of her neck was a delicate, delicious arch. Her hips rolled lazily and the view of my cock sliding in and out of her was beyond erotic. Sookie rode me slowly as I encouraged her with my hands on her round, firm ass.

But I needed to see her face. Sliding my sweat-slicked fingers up her spine, I pulled my goddess forward until I could kiss her again. I held her shoulder and stared into her beautiful eyes. Lips softer than the finest silk dragged along my cheeks, my nose, my lips, my eyelids. So sweet, so perfect, so caring. It was those simple touches that changed everything.

No longer driven by need, no longer a slave to want, this meeting of bodies became something else entirely. What exactly, I had no idea… but it wasn't anything I had felt before. I could see it hit her too, whatever it was. A shift that was impossible to define. Sookie's eyes grew wide and she took a shuddering breath. Then we were kissing again, holding, breathing and moving together in perfect harmony.

I rolled her beneath me again and pulled her knee up to rest over my forearm, folding her carefully so I could reach deeper inside of her. Laid out beneath me on the soft fur in the flickering cadlelight, Sookie looked more like a wild goddess of fairy tales than any vision possible in reality. Our gaze never broke as I increased our pace. Beads of sweat rolled down my undulating spine, and a few strands of my Sookie's tangled locks were stuck to her glistening forehead. I reached up to brush the wayward gold out of her deep eyes just as she did the same for me, tucking a swinging bit of hair behind my ear. Her tight core fluttered around me and she gasped, thrusting her hips up harder, straining.

"Oh Eric, please my Eric", she rasped. I drove harder and faster, feeling the muscles in my stomach tighten like a cable about to snap. Not even the relentless pounding could break the lock of our eye contact. I couldn't have looked away from her if my life depended on it. My Breezy American Girl. My Lady in Distress. My Sleeping Beauty. My Lover. Mine.

Her exquisite muscles clenched around me hard as her body arched off the bed. Arms wrapped tightly around my neck, my lover's forehead pressed to mine, I stilled and shuddered against her, filling her body with the product of the most powerful wave of sensation. We stayed like that for a long time, panting and sweaty, foreheads pressed together and gently caressing each other's skin and hair.

Goosebumps on her arms eventually let me know that it was time to get under the covers. I kissed Sookie's nose and pulled away. She made a small noise of complaint which became a moan of appreciation once I settled between the soft sheets and underneath the warm fur. I quickly made a turn about the room to shut off lights and blow out candles before sliding into bed and pulling her soft body close. I drifted off to sleep with Sookie's head lying across my bare chest and her breath fanning across my skin.

My Sookie.


	4. Grazie, Giovanni

Eric's POV:

The Italian sun was shining its white morning light through the windows when I woke. I couldn't remember having more restful sleep, and the reason became obvious when my foggy brain registered the sensation of warm, curvy flesh curled snugly against my chest. Sookie and I had shifted in the wee hours, and my arms were wrapped around her stomach, her smooth back nestled against me. Our legs were twined together, and our matching hair was nearly braided in tangles across the pillow we had shared. The graceful column of Sookie's tan neck was mere millimeters from my lips. Her gentle, silent breaths were music to my ears as I pressed a light kiss to the peach fuzz at her nape.

I languished in the moment for a while before realizing that one of my hands was resting on Sookie's naked breast. Atleast my sleep-self could get some shit right.

It took some effort, but I managed to detangle myself from my tasty naked bedmate without waking her. Nature's call wouldn't wait until I felt like moving, after all. Extra aim was necessary after… never mind… and afterwards I pulled on a pair of boxers and set about making breakfast. The coffee was on and the pan was heating up for bacon and eggs when I remembered my recently discharged Glock.

The weapon wasn't strictly legal to carry around in the city, but I have always been a cautious man. No way would I inhabit even a semi-permanent home without protection, and my version of caution had paid off last night. I cleaned the compact but powerful 9mm efficiently while chopped onions sweated in the pan, finishing and setting the pistol by the front door (to be replaced in the storage box of the Ducati) before anything burned.

How's that for multitasking in the kitchen, Rachel Ray? You can take your "EVOO" and shove it.

Sookie had flopped over onto her back in my absence which caused light snores to wheeze out like a baby mouse lived in her nose. Like everything she did, it was fucking adorable. I'd have to tease her about it later, though. I made a half-hearted effort of waking her by giving her slack lips a peck and waving a cup of hazelnut coffee underneath her nose. The only reaction I got was a soft snort and a louder snore (I had to hold my breath to keep my gut from busting), so I made my own onion and cheese omelet and left the breakfast paraphernalia out for when she finally left dreamland… or woke herself with a particularly loud snore.

A shower and a change of clothes later, Sookie still hadn't moved. Had it not been for the continuous squeaking, I might have been concerned. As it was though, I found myself thinking the exact same thing most men would in this situation…

YES! I TOTALLY wore her out! I am SOOOO good!

I did a mental fist-pump, shot myself a smirk and a wink in the mirror hung over the fireplace, and jotted my obviously satisfied fuck-hot lover a quick note before tucking the gun in the back of my jeans and heading out into the sunshine. On second thought… I dashed back in to write one more note before leaving. As much as I wanted to stay with Sookie, I had a few things to take care of.

Sookie's POV:

I had no idea what time it was when I woke up, but a loud squeaking noise jarred me from a very peaceful sleep. A MOUSE! There was a MOUSE in this place! Or maybe, God forbid, a RAT! EEEWWW! I reached over to wake Eric so he could catch the thing before it attacked us with rabies or Ebola or something… but the area of the bed he had occupied was empty. It had been for a while, if the cold temperature of the sheets was any indication. Great, I thought angrily, just great. He fucked me and then left me alone with vermin. Perfect.

I curled up into a ball, holding my knees. I was pretty sure that rodents couldn't jump up here, but one could never be too careful. My startled movement caused a little crackle, like paper being ruffled, and I felt an odd sensation of stickiness on my…

He wouldn't… He did! There was a piece of paper taped, I shit you not, to my boob. "You jackass!" I grumbled at the empty flat before removing the note.

My Beautiful Lover – (Oh, here we go…)

I can see that my exceptional sexual prowess has put you into a coma. My best efforts to wake you were unsuccessful and I thought it best if I allow you to recover your strength, which I guarantee you will need when I return. (I rolled my eyes. Out with the savior, in with the arrogant bastard…)

Unfortunately I have a bit of business to take care of, but it shouldn't take more than a few hours. There is coffee in the kitchen and things set out for omelets and bacon on the counter. Towels are in the top cupboard in the bathroom, unless of course you want to keep my scent on you until I come back. (Would you like some wine with that cheese, Viking?)

If you need anything, anything at all, you have my cell number. 

Until later, Breezy American Girl. Xoxo

Eric

I was just about to wad the thing up and toss it at the fireplace when I noticed a post script.

PS. In case you were wondering, there are no mice. That was you snoring, lover.

"I DO NOT SNORE!" I huffed and crumpled the paper in my hands before flinging the thing at the empty grate. My aim was off by a few feet, but the satisfaction was still there. "What a JACKASS!"

After a few breathing exercises to calm down, I decided that coffee and a shower were great ideas. I pushed the covers off with more force than strictly required and stood up… and felt another foreign tug on my backside. Twisting around, I pulled off another note that had been taped to my butt.

It read: "Mine."

He's going to pay for this.

Eric's POV:

I had just finished relaying the incident the previous evening to Giovanni when my cell phone beeped with an incoming text. The knowing smirk I could feel spreading across my face halted the professor's mini-lecture concerning the dangerous flippancy of discharging a firearm in a densely populated city center before I even reached for the device.

"I know that look already, Northman", he chided. "What did you do to her?"

The old man's astuteness never failed to astonish. "Why would you assume I did anything to her, Giovanni?" I was being evasive, and from the sharp look in Dr. Damiano's eyes, he knew it.

"Do we need to reiterate the nuance conversation, Eric? I warn you that repeating myself displeases me greatly. Beside that point, your rakish expression could drive a nun to sin and a harlot to church."

"Put that way, I can't tell if it's a bad or a good thing, Professor."

"Just spill it, boy." I was the first time I had heard the sophisticated scholar say anything that could be construed as American slang. Caught off guard once again, I "spilled".

The anecdote about the notes I had left for Sookie was gibberish without revealing that she and I had slept together last night, in, er, the biblical sense. My best attempt to vaguely imply and dance around the fact was seen through like a freshly windexed window. Giovanni guffawed at my somewhat bumbling explanation, before surprising me yet again.

"Attaboy, Eric! You sure didn't waste any time, did you? It is wonderful to know that someone still listens to my advice once a decade or so!" He clapped his hands together in that uniquely Italian expression of general happiness… but his bushy white eye brows rose nearly to his hairline when I explained the note. Or rather, notes.

"You are quite the cocky little shit, aren't you?" Did he just swear? "How do you think that made her feel?"

Suddenly my teasing didn't feel so harmless, and my ego was reduced to the size of an ant's. Not one of those big tropical ones either, just the run of the mill miniscule black ones that invaded my bathroom every winter in the States.

"Go on then", he waved the ever-present cigar at my pocket. "Check it."

I unlocked the phone… "Aw, hell."

"Give it here", Giovanni commanded.

"Sir, I don't think you want to see – " The shiny cell was plucked from my palm before I could say boo.

"Let's see here… From Sookie… Ah, it's in capitals! 'YOU ARROGANT SHIT! HOW DARE YOU TAPE NOTES TO ME! I CAN'T BELIEVE I FUCKED YOU AND YOU INSULT ME! YOU THINK YOU'RE FUNNY? I THOUGHT IT WAS IMPORTANT! I THOUGHT IT WAS SOMETHING SPECIAL! STAY WHEREVER THE FUCK YOU ARE, I'M LEAVING!'"

Giovanni shot me a level glare. "You are the world's biggest idiot, Video Game Boy."

"Aw fuck… I didn't mean to –" The phone vibrated again in the other man's hand.

"Another message! You're on a roll here. Let's see… 'AND I DO NOT FUCKING SNORE!' Charming young lady."

"Oh shit, shit, shit! What do I do?" I asked this as I frantically stuffed my things back into my man bag.

"Flowers."

I blinked. "Flowers?"

"A lot of flowers."

"Groveling?"

"A lot of groveling. And dinner."

"Flowers, groveling and dinner. Got it."

"Cook it yourself."

"I can't cook very well."

"You had better learn fast then."

"Wine?"

"Lots of it. The good stuff, too."

I had one foot out of the office when I stopped. "Where?"

He understood. "The market in Piazza San Cosimato. Best flowers and fine food. For the wine go to Trimani on Via Goito and give them my name. That will help."

"Grazie Giovanni."

"GO!" With that, I was out the heavy, antique door and off to the market.


End file.
